Design
by Teenwitch
Summary: Destiny has its own design.
1. Default Chapter

Author: Teenwitch  
  
Email: Teenwitch_feedback@msn.com  
  
Disclaimer: All characters are property of Joss Whedon, UPN, The WB and Mutant Enemy. I claim no ownership or infringement of any kind.  
  
Spoilers: Set post Chosen/Home. I realise the idea of the watcher's council reviving kind of defeats the purpose of slayers united, but I started this before I saw Chosen, so bear with me. And then again, who knows?  
  
Feedback: Welcome.  
  
Distribution: BA_Fluff, Fanfiction.net, and anyone else who asks are welcome to it.  
  
Rating: Ranges in different chapters, but let's give it a good solid R at present.  
  
Summary: Destiny has its own design.  
  
****  
  
No one is in charge of their own life. Everyone is a part of the bigger  
picture. -'Blind Date'.  
  
Chapter One: "Set In Stone"  
  
****  
  
Family.  
  
The very essence of life. The essence of being. The reminder that we are not alone in this existence. That we can go on, and when we do, someone will be by our side, someone who loves us despite our faults or sins or imperfections.  
  
What is this life, except for one journey into another? One step in the giant cosmic scale, one among thousands of insignificant moments that lead us to the inevitable. Death.  
  
For the immortal, that moment in time - that single second when life's great flame is extinguished to make way for the after - does not exist. That choice is theirs, more often not. But the great journey so many of us fear is never quite completed. If I were a philosophical man, I would say they hang in the balance, forever. For an eternity to greet alone.  
  
Family is what we use to occupy ourselves; man utilises to enjoy the interval between birth and death. The ultimate denial, that if we make a life, maybe the end of it will never come. What use is this denial to the immortal? Their time is forever, and what is family to the man who lives forever?  
  
I will now tell you a story, and one that will change everything you have ever believed. Everything about the way you see life, and all you take for granted until the very second it is gone. And it will show to you that the time spent in between, the time the immortal being will never know, is not a time wasted or to allow to slip by. That death is only the beginning, not the end, and what matters will always go on, no matter what.  
  
This is a story that will show to you never to underestimate the insignificant, that one small step could be the fork between two paths, and that fate, in one shape or form, will always fill out its design.  
  
This story is of hope and courage, of wisdom and love.  
  
This is a story of destiny, and the forces that must be faced in order to rectify it.  
  
****  
  
*Ah, the life of the immortal. The perks. well, those were far and many. A life lived forever, hey, that was a given. The superhuman strength, the ingrained fighting skills? Had that one down too. Oh, the healing. Bullet wound like a bee-sting, sure didn't bite. Ha, I made a joke.*  
  
Beneath the city surface, stalking swiftly through the shadows of the many complex twists and turns of the Los Angeles urban sewerage tunnels, Angel's superior senses magnified the smell of the city's waste per thousand, and he could not remember one single quality he liked about being a vampire.  
  
Wesley and Fred's animated chatter echoed around the corner ahead, words like 'fascinating' and 'breeding habits' and 'breakthrough in demonology' drifting back to him like that one time he had been forced to watch Animal Planet with Wesley because of the similarities between Heska demons and the indigenous ferret - a case they were working on at the time. Well, except the demonology part.  
  
But this wasn't a documentary; this was real life, and the nest of the alleged new species of demon Gunn had dubbed 'Prowlers' could be just ahead, and the two were sure to alert them to their presence if they didn't shut up soon.  
  
With the resources of Wolfram and Hart at their fingertips, the two of them could barely contain their excitement at the prospect of this new discovery.  
  
Angel increased his speed, and he whirled the corner in time to thud into Wesley's back where the watcher had halted abruptly in his tracks.  
  
"Do you hear that?" he murmured, sharply shifting into complete focus before Angel could say 'migraine'.  
  
Gunn lobbied up behind them, elaborately carved battle-ax courtesy of the Archaic Weaponry and Artillery Division clanging against his side, dark face twisted into an expression of deep annoyance.  
  
"Would'a heard it earlier if you two had stopped yapping this side of forever", he ground out irritably.  
  
Wesley ignored him, grey eyes drifting up the slick tunnel wall.  
  
After a long pause, Fred tentatively spoke up. "I don't hear-"  
  
Her words were never finished as a dark, scaly black creature materialized out of nowhere from the ceiling of the tunnel. A grating, high-pitched screech reverberated around them, and the demon dropped straight from the roof, and landed on top of Fred, knocking her flat on her back beneath it, and causing her to let out a startled yelp.  
  
Before anyone could react, similar cries echoed all around them, and demons were dropping from every corner of the tunnel.  
  
"Watch out!"  
  
Angel whirled just in time from Gunn's warning shout, ducking to a bow as a gnarled, clawed hand whipped at his head like a blade.  
  
*It's raining demons.*  
  
It missed the top of his head by centimetres, and Angel rolled, whirling to his feet.  
  
The demon that had attacked to him rose to its full height - though Angel got the impression it was more accustomed to hands and knees - and ran straight at him, talons rising.  
  
Angel dodged to the side, catching a long, deep gash along his chest that shredded through his shirtfront, and quickly clutched up his ax, swinging it wide and high.  
  
The creature -'prowler' couldn't be a more accurate description - moved surprisingly fast, and morphed into the landscape around it.  
  
Angel gazed around in disbelief, eyes darting around in an attempt to furrow out the suddenly invisible, danger personified threat.  
  
"*Wes*!" he shouted, swinging out the ax but only connecting with solid air.  
  
"The Prowlers can unify themselves to their surroundings!" the ex-watcher responded breathlessly, ducking from the assault of a small but surprisingly agile little demon who had him in its sights. "It's only temporary, but they can also attach themselves to any surface, and can move. extraordinarily. fast".  
  
His last words were paired with his furious panting as he struggled to slice his broadsword into the head of the demon.  
  
"We got that, English!" Gunn shouted back impatiently. "How do you *kill* them?!"  
  
Before Wesley could respond the demon in front of him was sliced through from the neck upwards, and collapsed in on itself, melting into a slick black substance that melded with the ground.  
  
The three of them stared at Fred for a brief millisecond.  
  
"Cut off their heads!"  
  
They didn't need to be told twice. Gunn whirled vigorously to the nearest demon, and whipped his metal ax at its head. He missed, connecting hard with the concrete wall, and was momentarily stunned by the impact.  
  
The demon underestimated him and threw its taloned hands at his shoulder, and Gunn pumped back his elbow, before beheading it in one clean movement.  
  
Panting, he rested his hands on his knees, and stood back as Angel and Wesley killed the last two prowlers.  
  
"*Damn*", he gasped, straightening. He grabbed up his ax, dripping black gunk over his shoes, and scowled. "Y'know, that was just a little too close to being a bloodbath for my liking. And we better have some anti-demon lotion or somethin' to get this ugly-ass black shit off of my new Docs when we get back to the office".  
  
Fred looked slightly sheepish. "Uh, maybe they. heard us coming?"  
  
He gave her a withering glare. "You think?"  
  
"Look, no one was hurt", Angel said diplomatically, although not in the least frosted himself at their recklessness. "That's what matters. Let's just do one more sweep and go back to the office".  
  
It wasn't like they didn't have reason to be a little reckless lately. Demon activity in Los Angeles had been at an extreme .01 for a while now; maybe a while too long. Bad for business, to be sure, but definitely bad in other ways if past experiences were to go by.  
  
And they didn't need another apocalypse after the last one.  
  
Since accepting the deal to take over Wolfram and Hart's Los Angeles branch two months ago, the AI team had been separated into their distinctive areas of interest, and their time together was less and less. Angel made it a point to arrange a fortnightly patrol for just the five - or four of them, as was usually the case - to assure they stayed in direct contact. And so they were reminded they were still *the* team.  
  
Wolfram and Hart may be providing them with resources they could never possibly have dreamed of a year ago, but their agenda was still not entirely clear and Angel knew all of them would be tempted with all forms of corruption. The least they could do was stick together, be reminded of where they came from and what the job entailed.  
  
They helped the hopeless.  
  
Their enthusiasm to be back on the job had waned noticeably, and the four of them did one last half-hearted sweep before trekking back up to the surface.  
  
Angel's sleek belvedere convertible was still waiting for them on the corner of 6th and 7th in the very centre of downtown, despite Gunn's conviction that it wouldn't be.  
  
Demonic activity had been low, but the criminal lowlifes in the town seemed to have taken this as their own personal grounds to come out of hiding, and in force.  
  
Gang warfare, hold-ups, break-ins and missing persons had intensified, and the heat was getting to everybody.  
  
Los Angeles had never been the safest town, but it was edging on the uninhabitable and people were starting to talk.  
  
Angel Investigations had taken it in their stride; after all, what was human mayhem to them? Their M.O. was strictly demons, even after Lorne's persistence that it wouldn't be so bad to branch out now they had Wolfram and Hart firmly backing them.  
  
So why was Angel so worried?  
  
****  
  
*What do we do now?*  
  
The question was so surreal, so unbelievable, presenting with it limitless possibilities, limitless potential.  
  
A life.  
  
A real life, not one restricted by monsters or demons or a sacred duty that was forever forged alone. For once and for all, it had been proven that Buffy Summers was no regular vampire slayer. She was born to bend the rules for the greater purpose, and her final legacy had been the epitome to this.  
  
Her final legacy had been a great one. It had united thousands of girls over the world as one primal force. Buffy, with the help of her friends, changed the course of history and eradicated the solitariness of the slayer line forever.  
  
*What do we do now?*  
  
They still had so very much to do, so much to change and to forge the way for the next generation. So many people to help. So much power to uncover, and to harness for Good.  
  
The night Sunnydale became a crater in the earth; Buffy Summers, her younger sister, her watcher, friends and the handful of slayers to survive were left homeless, with only the clothes on their backs to carry them.  
  
One by one, the new slayers returned to their respective homes in places all over the world, until the only two remaining were Faith, the rogue, and Kennedy, the slayer in love with the most powerful witch of this time.  
  
And so the building of a new life began.  
  
Buffy had taken the necessary liberties before the final fight, just in case, and their lives savings were stowed safely in a Los Angeles bank.  
  
In the last two months, Buffy figured Los Angeles had received a lot of extra migration into its city limits. like down coastal way, if you wanted specifics. She had given it some consideration, but the fact was Los Angeles was another figment of her past, her childhood, the time of her fleeting innocence as far as the creatures that went bump in the night were concerned. Sunnydale's destroying had just been another proverbial nudge to the forward.  
  
It was time to move on with her life.  
  
Besides, she'd kind of decided L.A. had enough protection in the super- power department. The place Buffy now called home was a small, inland town called Rio Dell, maybe an hour in between Los Angeles and what had once been Sunnydale. It was slightly smaller than Sunnydale, but inviting, friendly, and conveniently short a Hellmouth.  
  
All she needed to know.  
  
Dawn was with her, of course, and nearing the start of her Junior Year, though taking a make-up summer school course considering no one in Sunnydale had actually completed their education the previous year.  
  
Willow and Xander had also decided to stay with the Summers sisters, which wasn't any surprise, and Faith was still in the midst of a 'deciding' stage, which Buffy translated as she had nowhere better in mind. Besides, there was still kind of an outstanding warrant for her arrest, which the four of them constantly made alibis for. Sunnydale high's former principal had also kindly managed to arrange a phoney ID, and fake passport and birth certificate for the brunette slayer to allow her to remain permanently out of the penitentiary way, and allow her to help with more pressing issues.  
  
Like, oh, saving the world.  
  
Which had actually been put on the backburner since their defeat of the First, from the lack of evil to speak of.  
  
Giles returned to England, followed by an eager Andrew, desperate to rectify his sins and thoroughly convinced he had found his purpose in life.  
  
Slayers came and went, seeking guidance, or just to meet the famous Chosen One who had ended her own lineage and bestowed their power. But after a while, things settled down into what vaguely resembled normalcy. And the lives sacrificed in order for that to be achieved, Spike, Anya, Amanda and the countless others, would never be forgotten.  
  
And Buffy, the only slayer in history ever to conduct her duty with the aid of civilians and to be liberated from a lonesome fate, was free.  
  
So why wasn't she happy with that?  
  
The reasons were all very varied and complicated, and all had absolutely nothing to do with the real reason she was so unhappy, because she honestly didn't know what that reason was.  
  
Also, her discomfort with the idea of returning to Los Angeles didn't change the fact that here she was, sitting on the aisle seat in a Greyhound doing a steady 90 in the direction of that very city.  
  
Faith's head was propped against the window beside her, mouth open, and a disturbingly loud snoring sound coming from her nose. Or her mouth. Buffy wasn't really too sure and not in any hurry to investigate.  
  
She turned her attention out to face the window again, her own head leaning back to rest against the stiff headrest. L.A. felt like a backwards step, and that wasn't the direction she was looking to take.  
  
Unfortunately some representative from the reformed Watchers Council - which so far consisted of a total of nine members - was landing at LAX at 7:00am the next morning, and she and Faith were nominated as the ones to do the meet and greet.  
  
Caleb had blown up the Council HQ a year ago under the First's instructions, but there were several old watchers who had been in the early stages of retirement and some new watchers who were still in the ropes of training when that had happened, and they had all gathered together in the hopes of retaining the Council, and assisting the now many slayers which Willow had created.  
  
Buffy inwardly scoffed at their so-called noble motives.  
  
The blackness outside the bus seemed absolute and endless, the only thing occasionally disturbing it the shimmering city lights that were gaining closer and closer, signalling their impending arrival.  
  
The glitter that was Los Angeles became visible as they descended a hill on the freeway, and a familiar pang shot through her gut like butterflies assaulting her insides. Possibly with grenades. It was a sensation mixed with apprehension and dread, and one she always got when those first infinitesimal signs of the sky scrape came into view over the horizon.  
  
The only greeting this council representative was going to get from her was a snarky retort and a kick that should land him right back in the mother country.  
  
You know, the usual.  
  
Buffy and her friends had been the ones to train up and protect the potentials, and they would keep doing it, if it became necessary. Though all of the slayers had returned to their homes, there was always someone who needed helping, and they would be there to provide it.  
  
As far as Buffy was concerned, the Council had died along with the Chosen *One*.  
  
The bus depot was empty by this time of night, and Faith woke just as they juddered to a halt, arching her back like a cat as she stretched her limbs.  
  
"Well, I feel rested". She rose to her feet, reaching up to the above compartment for her bag. "What's say we get in a few vamps on the town before sunrise? I remember L.A. packing a load full of 'em".  
  
Buffy shot her a weary, withering look as they descended the bus with the few other late night travellers, and were assaulted by the cool night air. Trust Faith to be in the mood for some action when she was in the midst of such deep thoughts.  
  
"I hope that was a joke. The only physical exercise I intend on doing is finding a motel that takes check-ins this late".  
  
Faith hitched up her shoulder bag as they started between a neat line of Los Angeles Greyhounds. "This is L.A., B. The city that never sleeps or what the hell ever".  
  
"I thought that was New York".  
  
Faith rolled her eyes.  
  
"We're here for one thing and one thing only", Buffy reminded her sternly, inwardly wondering when she became so stuffy. "Official business, remember?"  
  
"I thought we were here to tell Blighter-boy where he can stuff it?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Well, that too."  
  
Faith sighed exasperatedly, flicking her wavy brown hair over one shoulder as she gave her friend a sidelong glance. "Come on. Be realistic, B. Pretty soon we're gonna have a bunch of watcher-boys panting down our necks, and this ain't a problem we're gonna fix with a carefully rehearsed speech and a few slaps up his royal-sized ass. These guys aren't going to go away".  
  
Buffy quickened her pace, wrapping her arms over her midsection in an effort to ward off the chill. She was irritated that Faith would shoot down her ready-made solution so easily. "Did you have anything better in mind?"  
  
"Now that you mention it."  
  
Buffy half-turned, stopping mid-step and fixing her fellow slayer with a long, hard look, having no doubt as to what Faith was referring to. She should have known this would come up again.  
  
"We've already been through this. And I am not asking him for his help. We've handled situations worse than this before, and we got through them without any help. So. No. Way."  
  
Faith scowled, folding her arms and levelling Buffy with a look of impatience. The bus depot had already emptied and they were alone in the dimly lit car park. "And how many of those times were the end of the world? I'm not saying like it's the ideal solution, but we have connections to the lead of the most powerful business in L.A. and you're gonna throw that way because you're hung-up on a past with the guy?"  
  
Buffy grit her teeth. She did not want to be discussing this, and she did not want to be discussing this in the middle of the cold night at two in the morning with Faith.  
  
"I do *not* want to talk about Angel with you right now."  
  
Thoughts of Angel brought up too many hurtful memories. Their last meeting, though leaving things open for the future, had felt too final. She knew that the world ending had to have had a significant influence to that atmosphere, but what happened after that was definitely enough for some reconsideration.  
  
Faith threw up her hands. "Do you ever? Oh, but how could I forget? Still touchy from the last time, right?"  
  
Buffy could feel her blood pumping. "Just drop it, okay?" she hissed through a clenched jaw.  
  
Faith dropped her arms to her sides, stalking past her in the direction of the road. "Whatever. Do it the hard way. You'd think after everything you'da learnt better", she grunted under her breath.  
  
"And what the hell does that mean?" Buffy snapped after her, whirling to follow her departing back.  
  
This new improved percepto-Faith was grating hard. She didn't need someone to point out the things she'd rather keep hidden to herself, and she certainly didn't need that person to be Faith. It wasn't like she was willingly being repressive about her emotions. It had just become. necessary the past few months.  
  
Faith stopped again, narrowing her heavily eye-lined black eyes into slits. "It means will you stop trying to be a damn martyr for half a second?" she burst out, waving her hands wildly. "You're a sucker for a cause, B, and this time you got none. You're putting your whole life on hold for what, a guy that's been gone for two months, and dead a whole while longer?"  
  
Buffy felt herself draw in a hissing breath. Faith could point out her flaws, fine. But she didn't need to hear about Spike.  
  
"This coming from Miss Commitment, who sends the first guy she even remotely likes packing at the first sign of something real?" she retorted brusquely.  
  
Faith glared, pausing in her own diatribe. Her and Robin were complicated enough without Buffy putting in her two cents. "Low shot, B. And we're not here to rehash on relationships. It's like you left Sunnydale with us, but part of you stayed behind".  
  
Buffy stared at her in disbelief. "Have you been. discussing this?"  
  
Faith shifted, scuffing the toe of her boot on the concrete ground, head bowing so her golden brown hair toppled over her pale features. She shrugged uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact, itching for a cigarette. "We were worried. Or well, the others were, anyhow. Come on, Buffy. I know the slayer deal a little better than they do, and I can see you still aren't moving past it. I get that. You have a life handed to you when you weren't expecting one, and you got no clue what to do with it."  
  
She unconsciously riffled in her pocket, withdrawing a cigarette, and she didn't know whether it was to warm her from the cold or from Buffy's frosty glare. "I'm just calling it like I see it, okay? We don't need another Council getting no ideas they got authority here. They never listened to us before. But if Wolfram and Hart could even slightly help, wouldn't you rather face Angel than risk putting off your life even more?"  
  
Buffy was silent, eyeing her and something behind her head erratically. "Since when did you become so perceptive?" she ground out at long last.  
  
Faith shrugged, puffing out long billows of smoke. "Not much else to do in a cell with twenty other chicks twenty four/seven."  
  
She didn't voice her other concerns, that maybe Buffy didn't want to see Angel because Spike had died in his place, but instead tried to keep her voice tinged with its standard cynicism. Which wasn't all that hard.  
  
"Is that a yes?"  
  
"Is that a choice?"  
  
****  
  
TBC 


	2. Design: In With the New

****  
  
There is a design – hidden in the chaos as it may be. But it's there. And  
you have your place in it.   
–To Shanshu in L.A.  
  
Chapter Two: "In With The New"  
  
****  
  
What were the odds of two slayers walking into a multi-national, million- dollar law company that was until recently fully charged by evil without being noticed?  
  
Buffy figured they were soon to find out as the doors of the elevator opened swiftly, and they were faced with the bustling, inner sanctum of the new and in no way modestly improved W&H complex.  
  
Lawyers in conservative, slick suits ranging from Armani to Versace bustled about as if in constant flight, many with cell-phones permanently attached to their ears, and briefcases melded to their palms. The entire enclosure was completely open, with bright light filtering in from above by a row of neatly spaced skylights she wondered at their appropriateness in a firm fully operated by a vampire.  
  
She dropped back, allowing Faith to lead the way to the main desk. This was her idea after all. Let her deal with the technicalities.  
  
Their only lucky break seemed to be that everyone was far too busy in his or her own business to concentrate on the newly entered pair of vampire slayers to their turf.  
  
Buffy felt burly, tough fingers pinch into the flesh of her shoulder as a large hand closed over her.  
  
Famous last words.  
  
"Excuse me, m'am".  
  
Buffy reluctantly turned; realising Faith had already disappeared into the crowd.  
  
She was faced with an impressively built security guard, fitted with more than your standard armour wear, including a sharply wielded stake and a long, imposing tazer blaster. That maybe concerned her a little bit.  
  
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, miss."  
  
Buffy's hand flew to rest on her hip. "Got a reason to go along with that, pal?" she asked sourly, pretty good idea in mind. "I don't like jumping through hoops".  
  
"Your entry into this establishment is breaching several security codes", he said tightly, hand already flexing over his utility belt like he expected her to be trouble. He also held a radio that with the press of a button could bring along many more of his tazer-equipped buddies. "Its standard procedure. We don't allow vampire slayers access on the premises unless under special instruction. So if you would be as to so kind..."  
  
"Right. I forgot, not currently evil", Buffy replied, crossing her arms stubbornly. She could see shapes flocking over in the corners of her eyes, but didn't twitch as she continued to speak. "Well, you'll excuse me for being so *rude*, but do you think you could explain to your little lackeys behind me that I happen to know your big boss upstairs?"  
  
His gaze didn't flicker either; apparently he hadn't been clued in on this little factoid, and wasn't buying into her explanation. Hey, at least this time it was *true*.  
  
"Like I said, we have no previous instructions to admit a slayer access. It would be best for everyone if you could leave without any trouble, don't you agree?"  
  
Even as he said this, she could see the imperceptible movement of his eyes as he instructed guards behind her into position. Buffy really wanted to punch him. Maybe whacking on one of Angel's employees would convince Faith she *really* didn't want to be here.  
  
"Hey, man, what's the problem here?" another, and much more lighter voice piped up at her elbow. Buffy turned just as a handsome young black man came to a stop beside them, obviously assessing a potentially dangerous situation when he saw one.  
  
The security guard turned to him with a look of exasperation, and waved a hand in her direction. "This *woman*", he said distastefully, "Is breaching security code just by being here".  
  
The black man cocked an eyebrow, eyeing her with newfound curiosity. He looked different to the many other stylishly dressed lawyers around him. Much more at ease, but the same time with an alertness that let her know he was not entirely in his element. For some odd reason it made her trust him. Or slightly more than this burly Captain America, anyway.  
  
"That right? And how exactly has the lady done that?"  
  
Buffy sighed, eyes scanning the perimeter for Faith. Where had the girl disappeared off to?  
  
"Vampire slayer", she replied vaguely, pointing to herself. She smiled sweetly at the guard. "Though I think that's just a cover up because he doesn't like me".  
  
The man seemed to straighten almost immediately. "You're a slayer?" He scratched his bald scalp. "You wouldn't happen to go by the name Buffy, would you?"  
  
Buffy frowned, turning so she was fully facing him, and effectively blocking the guard at the same time. "Not that I'm surprised you know my name – everyone seems to — but something tells me this goes deeper than that".  
  
Just as he opened his mouth to respond, Faith's familiar voice spoke loudly behind them. "Jesus B, what you doing talking with the help? I'm still trying to get Miss Prissy behind the counter to believe I'm who I say I am, and when I introduced her to my invisible buddy Buffy, she got the idea in her head security was necessary. Seeing Angel these days is like booking a ticket into Michael. I'm seriously considering hiring him a new staff or somethin'".  
  
She stopped when she noticed both the black man and security guard staring at her. Then her features twisted into a brash, white-toothed grin. "Chucky. Long time, no fight. How goes the hand-to-hand?"  
  
"Faith", he replied, easing into a smile himself. "Nice to see ya." He waved at the guard. "It's okay. These girls are with the boss".  
  
Buffy smirked at the guard, who looked pissed at being so easily dismissed. "Told you".  
  
Gunn turned to glance between both of them, smile switching to a frown. "Hope he didn't give you too much trouble?" he directed at Buffy, as the guard disappeared.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. I think he was itching for someone to hit him."  
  
Gunn shook his head, looking amused. "I'm Gunn, by the way."  
  
Buffy nodded, accepting his outstretched hand. "Angel told me about you".  
  
"You too. Guess you're here to see him, huh? Only explanation I can think for you showing up in our neck of the woods."  
  
"Would be nice."  
  
He nodded, hesitating. "I'll show you the way."  
  
****  
  
Gunn led the two vampire slayers through a labyrinth of corridors and up a few floors, furtively studying them as they followed in contemplative silence. He got the vibe that Buffy was less than happy to be there, but didn't comment on it.  
  
Faith and Buffy were about as opposite as night and day, and he could barely see how they had something so ancient in common as their lineage. Faith was brazen, sultry, and tough, a fighter by no stretch of the imagination. Buffy, on the other hand, looked more suited to the delicate than slaying vampires. She had a tiny, fragile build, but when he looked into her eyes saw they held an undoubtable durability. She was beautiful, but not in the open, smouldering way Faith could claim.  
  
There was something in her that screamed Angel's type.  
  
They reached the floor of Angel's office, and Gunn nodded to his secretary, a smartly dressed young woman called Anita, who reminded him all too uncannily of Lilah Morgan – or maybe Lilah ten years younger, and still alive. Way he saw it; lawyer types were all the same. After his intense, insightful experience in the White Room, he had little contact with them, and that was fine by him.  
  
It was probably lucky for Buffy and Faith he had come by on his way to an early lunch, the day he had changed from the third floor cafeteria to the second floor one, since they refused on serving burritos.  
  
Still, he hesitated before he knocked on the wood grain door. Angel's mood had become more morose since they joined up with the evil law firm, though he wasn't entirely sure that was the reason for the vampire's attitude. They didn't see much of each other barring their fortnightly excursions, so he rarely had the opportunity to ask.  
  
He peered inside, opening the door a few inches. The office was in gloom, which probably matched the vampire's mood, despite the special plated glass that allowed complete sunlight to filter in without it being an issue.  
  
Angel sat behind the desk, going through some files, expression focused.  
  
"Angel, man".  
  
His voice was the first Angel realised he wasn't alone, and it worried Gunn that it had been so easy to sneak up on him. He'd seemed switched on the night they took out those prowlers, but something seemed to be hedging at him.  
  
"Gunn, what is it?"  
  
Gunn gestured to the girls to wait for a moment, and went further into the room.  
  
"You got some uninvited company".  
  
Angel's face scrunched up, and he frowned. "Can't you tell them they need an appointment? I'm kind of in the middle of..."  
  
He never finished his sentence. The door opened the rest of the way, and he was confronted with the sight of two of the most significant women of his past, though each for different reasons obviously.  
  
Faith smirked at him, arms folding casually across her chest.  
  
"Love the way you prioritise, big guy".  
  
Angel stared at them a moment, anxiously clearing his throat. "Faith", he murmured, not without a certain level of affection. A longer, more pregnant pause filled the room before he added, "Buffy."  
  
"Hey Angel", she said softly, already cursing herself for allowing her eyes to meet his own. If she was a sucker for a cause, she was lost to those deep chocolate depths.  
  
Baking, she reminded herself sternly. Part of the reason she was so against coming here. Spike was gone, and she was still cookie dough. Accent on the dough.  
  
Faith's approach was much more blasé. "Hey man", she greeted, lobbying into the room as if completely missing the tension building between the ex- lovers. Gunn doubted anyone could be that blind.  
  
"What's the what? I gotta tell you, you need to improve the welcoming committee downstairs, we had a whole mess of trouble getting in to see you. And seriously, what's with the appointment thing? What, are we running a reservation service?"  
  
Angel looked slightly taken-aback. "You had trouble?"  
  
"Security have a thing against slayers", Gunn filled in, moving toward the door. "Must be a standing policy. And unless you need me, I gotta jam. Late for an important line-up in the company cafeteria".  
  
He gave them a wide, encompassing wave, and closed the door behind him, not anxious in the least to discover what news the slayers brought along with them.  
  
Faith stretched, taking in the office appreciatively. "Like the leather interior you got going, Ange", she commented flippantly, circling slowly around the room. "Oh cool, is that an entertainment system?"  
  
"Is something wrong?" Angel asked in concern, rising to his feet to stand on the opposite side of his desk.  
  
"Nothing's wrong", Buffy assured him; since Faith was too busy surveying the television to be of much assistance. She noticed how much more at ease her sister slayer seemed around the soulful vampire, and found it annoyed her slightly.  
  
Angel folded his arms, levelling her with an even gaze. "Well, there must be something, because you don't often drop by for social visits."  
  
Oh, was there a point in there? Faith thought.  
  
The brunette slayer smirked. "Can be arranged, honey. And since Buffy don't seem to be in any hurry, I'll cut us to the why. There's a whole mess of watchers headed Cali way, and we had a short little meeting with one of their reps flown over from mother England earlier. No matter how much effort Buffy put into her 'Get the Hell out of my country' speech which I think would have been much more effective with those simple seven words, Princess Margaret wouldn't budge. I think he actually expected us to put up his hotel fee before I set him straight."  
  
"Watchers?" Angel repeated dubiously. He was surprised there was still any left willing to revive the council. Hadn't they learnt anything from the debacle with the First?  
  
"Mmm-hmm. Apparently The First wasn't as thorough as we thought", she replied. "Or wanted", she added under her breath.  
  
Angel frowned. "They want to help you with the girls?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "The girls have gone home, but I guess that's what they're looking for. We already explained we don't need their interference."  
  
"Funny how they won't listen", Faith commented.  
  
"So you want them out of the country", Angel guessed. "In a more... official capacity."  
  
"What I thought", Faith said. "Which is why I reminded my friend Buffy here we had an old buddy to look up, more an' willing to help a good cause." She seemed much more at ease with him, which he understood. Their relationship was straightforward and uncomplicated. She was like his younger sister. For Buffy? He could never say the same on all accounts.  
  
Angel smiled wanly. "I could probably arrange something. You do realise even with Wolfram and Hart this could take a few days. You might still have them on your backs until then".  
  
Buffy shrugged. "A few days are better than a lifetime. Or, my lifetime, anyway. You're sure its not too much trouble..."  
  
"It's fine", he assured her, expression strangely neutral.  
  
Faith clasped her hands together awkwardly; sensing the heat in the room fly up a few notches at the same time the tension thickened the air to dangerous levels. "Well, great", she said unconvincingly. Was it her, or was there something off with Angel? If Buffy was sensing anything, she wasn't making like it was any big deal, but Faith knew the other slayer a little better than that. They were both acting oddly stilted, and she wondered what exactly had been said the last time they saw each other.  
  
She realised she had been shifted into the role of go-between, which in itself would have given her a warm glowy feeling inside, but with these two it just gave her the creeps. She was almost tempted to reintroduce them, just to remind them who they were speaking to.  
  
"It might be easier if you contact me when the rest arrive in the city", he added, reaching behind his desk to retrieve a small square card. He handed it to Faith, who was closest. "I'll tell my secretary to expect your call".  
  
Hello to Mr. Impersonal Big City Guy, Faith thought, feeling off-balanced. She spared the card a brief glance, seeing the emblem no longer represented an angel, or what was supposed to be an angel, but the icon of Wolfram and Hart.  
  
"Okay, we'll, uh, see you soon I guess", she said, feeling as though he couldn't rush them to the door fast enough.  
  
"Yeah. It was good to see you."  
  
Their goodbyes were polite and concise, and then she and Buffy were back out in the hall, where Angel's secretary stole them a quick, curious glance, before returning to her typing.  
  
Faith squared Buffy with a long look, curiosity fairly peaked.  
  
*What the hell was that in there? More to the point, *who* was that in there?*  
  
****  
  
Funny how the sight of two of the world's most powerful guardians could ruin a man's appetite.  
  
Instead of heading to the cafeteria like he said, Gunn cut a sharp turn, and went down the hall towards the library that held the entire extent of Wolfram and Hart's prophetic collection.  
  
The glass door opened with a swish against the carpet, and it came to his attention that Wesley, though in the exact position Gunn had envisioned him hunched over a thick red volume at the far desk, was not alone.  
  
Fred sat at a safe distance away on the foot of the sofa, thin-rimmed stylish red glasses perched on top of her head, eyes scanning through various papers spread across her lap.  
  
Sure, he and Wesley seemed to have surpassed their differences over the summer. They both cared for Fred, and maybe with a little help from Jasmine, realised that should bring them together, not apart. But it didn't mean seeing them there together, even doing something as innocent as research, didn't cut deep.  
  
She and Wesley had so much more in common than they ever had, and the fact had always been at the back of his mind, slowly destroying the last vestiges of their already shaky relationship.  
  
Wesley and Fred glanced up, both obviously very absorbed in their work. Fred was usually in the Science Division by this time of the day, so he figured there must be a good reason for her to be over here. Never mind maybe she just wanted Wesley's company.  
  
"Hey", he greeted, slumping on the vacant sofa across the room. He eyed them both curiously. "What are you guys doing?"  
  
"We wanted to look further into these prowlers from the other night", Fred spoke up in her strong Texan twang. "See if we could find if there have been any previous references to them. Finding a new species of demon this side of the new millennium is pretty rare. And some research we did the other day backs up my theory that prowlers aren't well accustomed to enclosed spaces. So we thought maybe –"  
  
"Okay, okay", Gunn interrupted irritably, rubbing his forehead. "I get y'all are doin' research."  
  
Fred looked slightly sheepish. "Sorry." She glanced at her watch. "What are you doing up here?" she asked with a slight frown. "Isn't it lunch time?"  
  
Gunn felt slightly affronted. Way to insult a guy's intellectual capability. And it just proved how well Fred knew him. "Was going that way", he explained defensively. "Least I was until I got distracted by Angel's two surprise, and excuse me when I saw *hot* visitors. Mean Darla was a honey, but dead ain't much of a turn on. I'm starting to get this Buffy thing now".  
  
"Buffy was here?" Fred said, straightening curiously. The slayer was somewhat infamous, at least to the two of them, who had heard so much about her but never actually met her.  
  
Gunn nodded, suddenly pleased with his superior knowledge. "Yep."  
  
"Buffy and Angel's attraction is hardly physical based, you know", Wesley reminded him seriously.  
  
Gunn rolled his eyes. "Way I seen 'em, it musta been part of it."  
  
"Who's the other?" Fred spoke up. "You said two".  
  
Gunn leant back. "Oh, yeah. Faith's here too. Official slayer business or something. Hey, as long as the world ain't ending, I don't care."  
  
"It must be something", Wesley mused thoughtfully. "It's not exactly commonplace for them to stop by for a visit."  
  
"If it is, won't be long before we're hearing about it", Gunn remarked. He hesitated. "Angel didn't seem that pleased to see them though", he admitted. "Way you talk it up, he and the slayer were pretty tight, right? Seems like the man's in a permanent funk these days, and we all know where that can lead us."  
  
Wesley frowned, closing the book on the desk. "I doubt we can assume things will get that drastic. Though I must admit Angel does seem to be a bit out of sorts. And Buffy's presence can hardly improve that mood."  
  
"Cordelia", Fred said softly. "She meant a lot to him. He's got to still be getting over that."  
  
Wesley unconsciously ran a hand over his stubble. "Perhaps". He sounded unconvinced. "I think all of this started after that." He gestured around. "This place. What it means. It has to be affecting him on some level. Ever since he arrived in Los Angeles, he has held this firm belief that he would make a difference. The Shanshu prophecy may have distracted him for a while, but in the end his intentions were still for the greater good. Wolfram and Hart represents all he is set against. He would feel corrupted, tainted from his mission in their ranks."  
  
"But we are doing good here", Fred protested. "Angel knows we can change things."  
  
Wesley sighed. "Then maybe everything is just getting to him. We have been rather distant these past few months. His control over us is slipping, and so is his certainty we're still on his side."  
  
"So in other words, you're sayin' he's lonely?" Gunn surmised frankly.  
  
A flash of guilt washed over Fred's expression. "We sort of... aren't around as much as we could be. It's just so easy to—"  
  
"—Get caught up?" Wesley finished grimly. "Yes, I suppose it is."  
  
"We'll speaking of seeing, anyone seen Lorne much lately?" Gunn piped up, changing the topic. They were starting to depress him.  
  
Fred shrugged, shaking her hair and tumbling around her curly brown locks. Over the summer she had cut her hair, and it now fell in a neat, curly bob to her shoulders. It made her look more like a genius than before, Gunn thought.  
  
"Not really", she admitted. "I think he's getting about as much caught up in it all as the rest of us. It's not like he's keeping distant on purpose or anything."  
  
Gunn sighed. "Right." He rubbed his hands together, a little too eagerly. "So. Which one of us gets to go over and see what that visit was all about? We gonna rock, paper, scissor it, or what?"  
  
"Considering Angel's current mood, I think we should just leave them be", Wesley said evenly. "He'll tell us when he's ready – if there's even anything to tell at all".  
  
****  
  
Lorne strode down the main corridor towards the big boss's office, whistling show tunes to himself as he did.  
  
Most employees didn't give him the slightest bit of attention; they had all become accustomed fairly quickly to the Angel Investigation's crew and their foreign ways. And hey, it wasn't like they hadn't dealt with weirder.  
  
Lorne couldn't help a feeling of guilt as he made the trek down the now familiar hallway however, knowing all too well he hadn't been giving old Angel much in the way of visitin' the past few months.  
  
It was all just so overwhelming. That very morning he had helped Wolfram and Hart sign *The* Sir Elton to a long and binding contract, and the singer was every bit as classy as he looked on the screen and stage.  
  
As Lorne rounded the corner, he bumped shoulders with a young woman walking in the opposite direction, and he opened his mouth to offer apologies. The contact, however brief, sparked something in him before he could muster up anything remotely intelligible.  
  
When he did his aura reading, the visions were rarely seen in visual representation, more an ambience, strong or week depending on the person's mental capability. This was something completely off the charts.  
  
A mystical backlash caused him to stagger into the opposite wall, and blinding flashes assaulted his eyes, until he was completely unaware of the mostly curious gazes of lawyers around him.  
  
Sharp pains cut into his skull, which in itself was a strange thing, because the readings were never associated with pain, more a pleasant dulling sensation in the back of his mind. This was something mind-blowing, and he sure hoped that wasn't literal.  
  
He had never planted eyes on the woman, but he could see her as clearly as he could a French Viscose among last season's spring range in his mind. Her beauty, her vulnerability through undoubtable strength, and something big, something vital. He had never felt such a strong connection with someone, and certainly not even before they had opened their mouth, and he knew this was not of his own intervention. This was from something on high, a warning, a sign, he didn't know. If it was the Powers, it didn't surprise, because they weren't essentially known for their clarity.  
  
He blinked, and his vision was cleared. He realised he was on the floor against the railing, and he flinched backwards when someone leant over him.  
  
It was her face, and he knew who she was.  
  
"Are you... all right?" she asked haltingly, seeing his reaction and hesitantly removing her hand.  
  
Lorne shook the feeling off, quickly regaining his composure and picking himself up, even as he was filled with a fear-inspiring dread.  
  
"Hey Lorne, you cool buddy?"  
  
He turned his head, realising he hadn't answered, and noticed Faith's presence for the first time. He nodded his head hastily, backing until he hit the rails. He drew in a breath, forcing himself to sound calm.  
  
"Just a chunk of fine, sweet pea, bit of dizziness, that's all. Must be the lighting, I've told Angel to get it adjusted." He chuckled unconvincingly. "And though I'd love to stay around for a while in the company of you two fine young ladies, and find out the reason for your little visit to our inner sanctum, I've got to scoot."  
  
"Er, okay", Faith said haltingly.  
  
"Are you sure you're all right?" the other asked him uncertainly.  
  
Lorne's eyes darted back to her face, before moving away again quickly. The pain was still pretty darn clear, even if the message wasn't. "Fine, fine. Really, have to watch my eyesight. Lighting, I suspect, like I said. I've got some business to see to with Angel".  
  
"Of course. But I mean, I can always just go back in there and tell him—"  
  
He didn't know why, but the idea of her back in the vampire's presence vaguely unsettled him. "Uh, no, completely unnecessary", his tone was much more smoother than before. He bowed a gracious goodbye, which he knew Faith at least would see was in no way out of character. "Faith. Buffy. If you would excuse me".  
  
He moved off, careful not to make it look like he was in a hurry, while Faith and Buffy exchanged a startled glance.  
  
Buffy stared after him. "Um, how did he know my name?"  
  
****  
  
TBC 


	3. Design: Rewind, Repeat Performance

Author: Teenwitch Email: Emi074@msn.com Disclaimer: All characters are property of Joss Whedon, UPN, The WB and Mutant Enemy. I claim no ownership or infringement of any kind. Spoilers: Set post Chosen/Home. I realise the idea of the watcher's council reviving kind of defeats the purpose of slayers united, but I started this before I saw Chosen, so bear with me. And then again, who knows? Feedback: Welcome. Distribution: BA_Fluff, SempiternalBeloved, Fanfiction.net, and anyone else who asks are welcome to it. Rating: Ranges in different chapters, but let's give it a good solid R at present. Summary: Destiny has its own design.  
  
Authors note: The Devandire Sibylline codex was referred to in Angel 4:22 'Home'.  
  
****  
  
Chapter Three: "Rewind, Repeat Performance"  
  
****  
  
Fred and Gunn had just left, deciding to detour past the cafeteria before separating to their own different divisions. Wesley had just returned to his research when the phone on his desk began to ring with annoying persistence.  
  
He sighed, resigned to the fact that he was just not gong to get any work done today, and picked it up on the third ring.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
His fellow employees would have answered with much more cheer, and a professional, maybe a little irritating slogan like Cordelia had once made them use for the business, but he had no patience for such facades. He was straight and to the point.  
  
"Um, am I speaking to Wesley Wyndham-Price? Because if I'm not, I'm not leaving the line until you direct me to the right department, buster."  
  
Wesley suppressed a relieved chuckle. He recognised Willow Rosenberg's tone instantly, and read through the supposed attitude. "Yes, Willow", he said fondly. "It's me.  
  
"Oh good. I have to ask, is it Angel making that place less organised, or the apocalypses, or is it just like that?"  
  
Before he could reply, her voice grew more serious. "Look, it doesn't matter. I was wondering if Buffy and Faith came to see you yet, or whether I'm just going to have to speak up first?"  
  
Wesley smiled dimly. "They were here a few minutes ago."  
  
"Well, good then. I don't know what we were going to do if Buffy didn't agree to let you help".  
  
Here he had found a source for their mysterious visit, and his curiosity egged him onward. "What exactly is the problem?"  
  
She sighed, sounding weary. "Oh, the Watcher's Council have revived, and they're working on recruiting the new slayers; at least as many as they can lay their hands on."  
  
"And you thought a multi-national law firm specialising in the dark and unknown might be able to help you get rid of them?" he finished shrewdly.  
  
He could hear her smile. "In context. We still don't know if they're going to be able to get enough backing. Travers is dead after all, and so are all of their most influential members. And they're pretty much high and dry in terms of funds. Of course its always possible a big company like that kept off-shore accounts."  
  
Wesley ran a hand over his stubble. "Actually, I could almost certainly vouch for that."  
  
"Damn. So. Think Angel will help?"  
  
Wesley smiled. "We are talking about the same Angel?"  
  
She laughed. "Yeah. What I thought. We just have a little problem. The reinforcements are arriving at nine-o'clock tomorrow morning. Earlier than expected."  
  
"I doubt we can work up a deportation order by then. Even through some of our more powerful contacts. Which actually includes a large number of our government and political parties."  
  
"I'll have to warn Buffy, anyway. I only hope I can reach her in time. Anything you guys could do would be great, though. The slayers were never meant to be controlled."  
  
"I really couldn't be more in agreement."  
  
"Glad someone sees our side of it. I have to go, Wes. Knowing the council and the way this situation could go, I'll probably be seeing you soon."  
  
"I almost guarantee it."  
  
He hung up the phone, looking down at it pensively. Interesting Buffy had been so reluctant to seek their help. Obviously, Faith's influence in the end. And the Council were back.  
  
*This just can't end well.*  
  
****  
  
Wesley wasn't to know that just across town, much bigger problems were in the works.  
  
Dark forces gathered in the cover of the filtering darkness, swarming almost like a moth to a beacon. They surged from the very scumpits of the earth, from the depths of the ocean and the skies. Opposing forces united for one single purpose, to summon forth The Warrior For The Darkness. Only he could stop the coming threat to their kind.  
  
The Warrior's release into this dimension had never been done, and was sure to spark a wave of bloodshed and mayhem. It was not of their concern. It was only there to fulfil its purpose, and it must not fail.  
  
Representatives of the dark gathered around the symbol for The Warrior, cloaked in black and swathed in the blood of innocents.  
  
The chanting echoed like a low buzz over the city, imperceptible to the ears of a human, and driving the last of the lower, insignificant demons and vampires from the city's limits in fear. Only the harbingers for what was to come remained, forced into underground caverns and sewerage systems, despite their natural environment of the open.  
  
The words were in a tongue not of the earth, and went on long into the night. The darkness from the demons seeped into the earth, until the symbol was a pulsating, glowing emblem, and the ground beneath it began to shudder. The trembling was only slight throughout Los Angeles, and the citizens thought nothing of it, for this was Southern California after all.  
  
Those united stood in eager anticipation, and The Warrior rose.  
  
It butchered them all, consuming their darkness for its own, and the scent of demon blood ripened the night air.  
  
Then it turned, and started for Los Angeles.  
  
****  
  
It wasn't until late in the night that Lorne managed to badger his way past Angel's secretary into his office, since the Big Bad Vampire had requested no more appointments after his diminutive encounter with Buffy and Faith.  
  
Angel could see almost instantly Lorne's foul mood, and the green demon was across the room and in the other desk chair before Angel could open his mouth.  
  
"Uh, make yourself at home".  
  
Lorne glared, red eyes flashing with an unusual amount of animosity, and he crossed his legs at the ankles. "I might just do that, Angelcakes. What's the matter, a little visit from your pretty little ex and you loose your appetite for all social activity? Even from your true pals".  
  
"Can't say I've seen you much lately", the morose vampire grunted, arms folding as he remained not moving in his position in his office chair.  
  
Lorne waved a hand impatiently. "I'll apologise for that later, because right now I think there's something you should know."  
  
"What would that be?"  
  
Lorne began to feel restless in his seat, and jumped to his feet again, stalking around the room. He was rarely so agitated, and Angel straightened a little. Lorne was glad he could garner that much of his attention.  
  
"I've a mind to ask about that attitude later, bro, because moody is not a good look for you." He sighed. "I ran into your little blue bird in the corridor, and hear me when I say *blue*. The vibes I was getting off her? Whole different world."  
  
"You *read* her?" Angel demanded, launching to his feet. His fists unconsciously clenched, and slammed against the mahogany desk violently.  
  
Lorne stopped mid-sentence, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. "Well gee, Mr. Jumps-to-conclusions, over reactive much? I didn't really have much of a choice when the PTB decided to *hit* me with one right in the middle of the hall". He shook his head, wincing as if reliving the memory. "And can I say, ouch. I don't really want to dwell on it. Those Powers need to set up a stage, because melodrama seems to be their speciality when they invade in somebody's head".  
  
"What did you see, Lorne?" the vampire questioned impatiently, leaning forward with his knuckles on the wood.  
  
Lorne rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to comment on his impatience. "Thank you for you concern, on a Hallmark scale it's touching, really", he said sarcastically. "I don't know what happened. I really couldn't say. My head was throbbing like a jackhammer for hours afterwards, and all I did was touch shoulders with her."  
  
Angel was frowning deeply, eyeing him over with caution. "You think the Powers were sending you a warning? Well, what did you see?"  
  
"Like I said, these were vibes. The most I got were a few flashes, and I could barely make sense of them then on account of the pulsating pain rocking around in my head. All I can tell is that we have some badness headed our way, and they're wanting us to know."  
  
"And they couldn't have used more clearer channels than a vague message in your head?"  
  
Lorne gave him a look. "We are talking about the Powers That Be."  
  
"Right. So, what did it mean? Buffy has something to do with it? Something she's supposed to fight?"  
  
"Honey, you are forgetting she's not the slayer anymore. And I don't think that's what this is about, or I'm sure I'da picked up on it easier. Whatever is coming, it has strong *strong* connections with our fair little damsel, and it ain't because she's a slayer. It was almost like she was... marked."  
  
"Marked?" Angel repeated.  
  
"That's almost definitely how I'd put it, now I think about it. She's marked, and the feeling was so conflicting... I'm not sure whether it was for Good or Evil".  
  
"That's not really much to go on".  
  
Lorne shrugged helplessly, even as he did watching the diverse emotions playing out in Angel's eyes. He pitied the vampire's obvious love for her, even if neither of them were admitting it.  
  
"No, its not. But Angel..." He decided to be frank. "I've never had such a strong reaction from one person, and I've read a few shifty ones in my day." He pursed his lips, gut still full of an intrinsic dread he couldn't quite express aloud to his friend. Maybe it would be better for them all if he didn't.  
  
Now he had gotten it out, Lorne slumped back into the chair, wanting nothing more at that moment than a seabreeze to permanently attach itself to his hand, and maybe a warm, soothing bubble bath to soothe away the pain in his head. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be on the agenda in this line of work, and he could just see the expensive spa bath back at his new Santa Monica apartment going to waste.  
  
"This is something big", Angel translated unhappily, ducking his head as he sat back in his own chair pensively.  
  
"Yes, that it is", Lorne agreed quietly. He decided not to voice his other concerns, that he was getting the strong notion Angel was somehow connected to all of this. And he wasn't sure what that could mean, but it made him very averse to the idea of the slayer being in contact with the vampire.  
  
After all, when did the Powers ever warn them of something good?  
  
****  
  
At precisely nine-o'clock the next morning, the door to Motel Suite 101 at the Sun Inn in downtown Los Angeles rattled loudly, like whoever was on the other side was in a wicked bad hurry.  
  
Faith had disappeared that morning for a 'jog', though Buffy could only guess at her sudden reversion to fitness junkie, and Buffy had just thrown on some sweats and a tank top after a long morning shower.  
  
She threw open the door in annoyance, eyebrows knitted together in a deep scowl.  
  
On the other side were three men, all dressed in conservative tweed business suits that left her no doubts to their origins. One of them she recognised as the representative from the other morning, who kept his pointed distance from her, eyes warily checking for signs of the other, less diplomatic slayer. Buffy could sure use her presence right about now.  
  
Unfortunately for her, the motel manager had failed to pass on any coded messages from Willow on their coming, and she figured she had missed her only warning.  
  
She prepared to slam the door back in their faces, but the older one, the knocker she guessed, flattened his palm on the wood and prevented her from doing so, at least without causing him deviant injuries to his wrinkled face. He looked like one of the watchers long past retirement, and if she had made it a personal rule not to hit Travers, she wasn't going to hit this guy, who looked ancient in comparison.  
  
"Ms. Summers, I presume?"  
  
"I'm guessing you're Mr. Sly, right?"  
  
"Sloane, actually".  
  
She folded her arms, wedging her body firmly in the doorframe so they couldn't hope to enter her suite. "Yeah, we'll see".  
  
He was surprisingly patient, at least more so than his predecessor, but even so she could see an annoyed scowl crinkle his forehead. "Ms. Summers, I'm sorry to intrude, but it seems we're having a little difficulty communicating with you. Mr. Hutton here tells me he had little success bartering with you yesterday."  
  
Buffy tilted an eyebrow, seeing the word 'understatement' on the edge of said representative's lips. She stifled a grin. Faith's methods were definitely way more effective at times like this.  
  
"Then I thought you would be fairly clear that we're not interested in your help", she said bluntly. "Why can't you get it through your mind that this is it? The world doesn't need another Council. The days of tweed, masterpiece theatre, and stuffy British leaders are over. We won. You had no part in that. Deal with it."  
  
Sloane was fast loosing the last vestiges of his tolerance. "We're well aware of your disobedience, Ms. Summers, but until now I carried a certain level of respect for you and your... American methods. There are hundreds of girls out there, *hundreds*, who need your help, who have no idea what they have become, and you really think without the proper resources and funds, that you will be able to help every single one of them? There is no way you can be so naïve".  
  
"Insulting me really not helping your case", Buffy said irritably, leaning one hip against the doorjamb and folding her arms.  
  
"This is pure insanity", Hutton said in exasperation.  
  
Buffy narrowed her eyes. "I know you don't have any records, but if you actually still had my files, you would realise I'm not exactly keen on co- operating with the Council in the first place. The slayers don't need you. In fact, they never did."  
  
"You still must face facts", Sloane said, with a little more decorum. "The Council can offer you the proper assistance and resources to help with this cause. Where else are you possibly going to acquire that kind of sponsorship?"  
  
"I could think of one or two alternatives".  
  
The three stern-faced watchers glanced around at the interruption with aggravation.  
  
Angel stood casually in the hall interior, with a thick manila folder in one hand. He nodded to Buffy with a small smirk. "Sorry I'm late."  
  
She shrugged, forcing her voice to sound noncommittal even as she felt a jungle-large surge of butterflies flutter around her stomach. "No big," she murmured calmly. "You're right on time".  
  
Sloane narrowed his eyes, observing their exchange with reserved mistrust. "I'm sorry, young man, but I don't believe this matter is of your concern", he said snarkily.  
  
Angel shot him a withering look, and instead waved forth the wad of papers in his grasp. "I think it might be. I have here a restraining order, placed on you and all members of your organization, should you continue any further harassment to either Buffy or Faith." He removed another sheet, holding it in the enraged watcher's face.  
  
"And this is a court order directing your removal from the State of California effective immediately." He slapped in none-too-gently against Hutton's chest, who spluttered with indignant disbelief, all the while wearing a self-satisfied smirk. "Law enforcement," he said conspiratorially to Buffy, yet so the rest of them could hear. "Who said the good old fashioned law couldn't solve anybody's problems?"  
  
Angel gave him a nudge down the hall, but Sloane still paused, face clouded over in a dark mask as he glared straight into Buffy's eyes. "I hope you realise you're aligning yourself with the darkest force in this city", he snapped. He gave her a long, cold smile. "And may God have mercy on your soul once it begins."  
  
Buffy stared after him, eyebrows raised, until he disappeared. She looked at Angel, mildly disturbed at his one final cryptic remark. "*It*? What it? Where's the it?"  
  
He shrugged, replacing the papers back in the folder. "I really don't know. Though I get the feeling its more than just this last words of a very pissed but beaten watcher."  
  
She smiled. "You did beat him pretty good."  
  
He was all modesty. "I had to pull in a few favours. It was actually thanks to Wesley, mostly. Willow called him yesterday and gave him the early warning".  
  
Buffy's expression darkened slightly. "Willow called?"  
  
"Uh yeah. Why? Is there something I'm missing?"  
  
Buffy sighed, massaging her forehead tiredly. The smell of fresh lavender and vanilla shampoo tantalised his primed sense, and Angel felt his chest constrict tightly.  
  
"No, nothing", Buffy muttered, oblivious to his discomfort. When had being around him felt this awkward?  
  
"Well, I um, I really should go", he said hesitantly. "I mean, if everything is taken care of here...?"  
  
Buffy glanced up, then looked away, surprising herself by feeling hurt by his hurry to get away again. "Yeah, of course", she murmured, hiding her disappointment. "I think everything's pretty much—"  
  
A rough movement rocked the earth, catching both of them off-guard, and interrupting her mid-sentence. Angel staggered across the shifting carpet, bumping into her, and they both quickly moved between the doorframe. Buffy twisted around to look at him, ignoring how close he was pressed to her back.  
  
"Can you hear that?"  
  
He listened, unnecessary breath tickling her neck, but he didn't have to wait very long. There was a grating, thundering noise outside, like shrapnel being dragged along gravel. They both realised at the same time their instinctive Californian reaction hadn't been correct. Whatever was causing the ground to shake, it wasn't an earthquake.  
  
Buffy moved away from the doorframe, balancing herself hazardously on the erratic earth as she began to move down the corridor. Angel followed behind, and it was only when they reached the door they realised the movements were coming from underground.  
  
Car alarms went off in the street as the ashfelt under the bright Los Angeles sun juddered. Angel craned his neck behind Buffy, careful to remain out of the sun's harmful rays. "Buffy, what is it?"  
  
She opened her mouth to answer when a loud, rippling crack like thunder deafened them, and the road in front of the Sun Inn began to shift upwards. Buffy's mouth fell open in dull shock as a long crack formed down the centre, and one massive chunk of earth began to suspend itself above the other.  
  
The ground beneath it exploded, sending a rain of dirt and gravel and grass over the neighbourhood around them, and causing one final tremor that threw them off their feet.  
  
Buffy stumbled to her feet, bracing herself against the railing of the balcony as the source revealed itself. Hundreds of ugly black hunched over demons flocked from the ready-made crater in the middle of fifth avenue, climbing all over each other in an effort to escape. Their movements were surprisingly nimble and speedy, and they quickly spread out. Several spectators to the incredible sight stumbled backwards in shock, crying out as they began to flee from the scene.  
  
Just as Buffy was about to spring into a more violent kind of action herself, the crawly little demons blinked out of existence, one by one, as if moulding into their backgrounds. By the sound, she knew they were still there, but as the racket began to move westwards, she realised they were headed in the direction of downtown, and she had no hopes of spotting them.  
  
She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and turned around to see Angel at her back.  
  
"Get in the limo", he ordered point-blank. His expression as so grim, she didn't quail as she usually would have at his sudden orders. "I'll explain when we get there".  
  
****  
  
"I think those watchers cast a little chaos spell to get revenge on me", Buffy grunted, as she sat in Angel's office with the rest of the AI crew, tapping her heel against the foot of the plush leather sofa. "That Hutton guy looked pretty shifty, don't you think? Though he didn't look like he had the balls to pull off a small-time robbery let alone call forth an army full of inviso-crawler-demons, but you never really can tell with those guys".  
  
Angel ignored her as he glanced up at Wesley pointedly. "Would you mind telling me why Los Angeles has been invaded by Prowler demons without us picking up on them?" he demanded shortly. "I thought we had measures against this sort of thing?"  
  
Wesley shrugged helplessly, looking more than a little mentally drained. His research was proving more confounding by the second, and now they had this new cataclysmic issue to terminate as soon as possible.  
  
"Essentially, we do. But the Prowlers could very well have been out of range under the earth's surface. There are any number of reasons our equipment didn't pick up on them".  
  
"I don't understand how they could have multiplied this fast", Fred insisted thoughtfully, pacing the length of carpet. Wesley took a short moment to admire how much her confidence had been boosted at a lead position in Wolfram and Hart. "I thought we killed the whole nest the other night?"  
  
"Obviously not", Gunn muttered, on the sofa beside Buffy. He folded one leg over the other. "So, what do we do about them?"  
  
Wesley sighed wearily. "We should be able to send out a team to exterminate them fairly easily", he mused. "Although I doubt this will escape publicity, considering the damage they're sure to cause."  
  
Buffy cocked her eyebrows. "Um, are you guys listening to yourselves?" she asked, staring up at them in mild disbelief. "Those things are a danger to millions of people, and you're discussing the *publicity*?"  
  
Wesley shifted awkwardly, and Fred looked at the floor. Angel's expression grew slightly disturbed, and he slumped into a seat on the opposite sofa.  
  
"Okay", Gunn said at last, carefully avoiding her all-too-true observation. He hadn't realised how much this place was really affecting them until an outsider could point it out. "So we get rid of 'em. Anyone 'sides me thinkin' they're here for more than just your every-day butchering?"  
  
Fred and Wesley exchanged a look, and Angel frowned at them warily. "What?"  
  
Fred cleared her throat, fiddling with her glasses.  
  
"Uh, we didn't really want to... say anything, not until we knew for sure," the physicist admitted hesitantly, chewing her lower lip.  
  
Wesley sighed. "Fred came up with a theory that Prowlers carry certain similarities to a demon called G'Ashinda, which has origins in Eastern Europe in the late fourteenth century", he began. "They were thought to be killed out after the bubonic plagues, but there was no circumstantial evidence to back this up".  
  
"Getting to a point in there, Wes?" Buffy piped impatiently.  
  
He shot her an irritated look, perhaps momentarily forgetting the changes in each of them that no longer made them watcher and slayer.  
  
"The *point*", he said lengthily. "Is that the G'Ashinda were very indisposed to enclosed spaces. Yet for the past few weeks, they have been nesting under the surface in large groups, and breeding, if the army of them is any indication".  
  
"That's assuming the Prowlers are actually the G'Ashinda", Angel pointed out.  
  
Wesley shook his head. "I can almost definitely say they are", he insisted. "And if that's so, then we have a problem."  
  
"Always do", Gunn muttered.  
  
Wesley ignored him. "I decided to take another look through the Devandire codex Wolfram and Hart stole from the Watcher's Council a few years ago", he explained. "The G'Ashinda's revival is no coincidence. The G'Ashinda are harbingers for the arrival of something big."  
  
Angel stared at him. "The End of Days?"  
  
Wesley shrugged one shoulder. "Certainly a possibility".  
  
"I knew that Sloane guy wasn't just making with the snarky", Buffy muttered. "He knows something. And now there's no way we're ever gonna know what".  
  
"Wolfram and Hart can monitor all demonic activity in the city", Fred said helpfully. She had been inwardly surprised at the slayer's introduction to her earlier. She was so different to what she had imagined. "That should give us enough of a warning... hopefully."  
  
"Well, it better", Buffy said, rising to her feet.  
  
Angel gave her a sharp look. "Where are you going?"  
  
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm gong to go out and clean up the mess these demons of yours have created".  
  
"I already told you—"  
  
"You have a team to take care of them", she finished, arms falling to rest on her hips. The other three in the room watched on uncomfortably, aware of the tension building between the two noticeably. "Somehow, I doubt your 'team' will be too concerned with innocent people getting caught in the crossfire."  
  
She swivelled around, stalking from the room.  
  
Angel gaped after her for a full thirty seconds, then was across the room and grasped his leather jacket from the hanger on the back of the door.  
  
"Angel...?" Wesley started, also standing.  
  
Angel turned to point a finger at him. "Talk to Lorne", he instructed. "Tell him to tell you what he saw. I'll be back soon."  
  
"Where are you going?" Fred asked in confusion.  
  
Angel glanced at her briefly, then returned his attention to the exit. "To follow her."  
  
He was gone almost as quickly as Buffy was, leaving Gunn and Fred to stare after him and wonder at his strange behavior.  
  
Wesley only sighed wearily, with the apathy of someone who had witnessed it all before. "They do that".  
  
****  
  
TBC 


	4. Design: Thin Line

Author: Teenwitch Email: Emi074@msn.com Disclaimer: All characters are property of Joss Whedon, UPN, The WB and Mutant Enemy. I claim no ownership or infringement of any kind. Spoilers: Set post Chosen/Home. Feedback: Welcome. Distribution: BA_Fluff, SempiternalBeloved, Fanfiction.net, and anyone else who asks are welcome to it. Rating: Ranges in different chapters, but let's give it a good solid R at present. Summary: Destiny has its own design.  
  
****  
  
Chapter Four: "Thin Line"  
  
****  
  
Wesley's involved, drawn out explanation about the Prowlers had resulted in one decision for Buffy, and that was action. It was rare for her to act with her fists these days, but she found a refreshing kind of therapeutic kick out of the occasions it became necessary, and this was one of those times.  
  
What she knew about Wolfram and Hart was mostly second hand, information she read in the papers about their charity acts and articles whenever they made a top client – which included a fair amount of the more wealthier Los Angeles population – but what went on beyond their doors, at least before Angel was in charge, had been relayed to her through Faith. And Faith knew enough to have her questioning their corporal image.  
  
She had difficulty understanding why Angel got involved with them in the first place. It wasn't like him to take the easy route out, but there was a lot she didn't know about him these days, and she had to admit that could very well be one of them.  
  
Whatever his reasons, as she strode along Wilshire Boulevard towards downtown with her palms balled into fists, she didn't think it was good for him. Just the fact that he preferred to send in a clean-up team than involve himself in the process worried her about his priority order.  
  
If another apocalypse *was* on the way, he needed to get it straight.  
  
And the feel of his eyes surveying her, where he thought she couldn't see, was enough to make her stop dead in her tracks and back-pedal furiously.  
  
To his credit, he sensed her arrival before he glimpsed her. She came to a halt with the toes of her boots scantly touching the shadow of an overhanging building he took shelter under, folding her arms irritably over her chest as she glared at him. He wasn't sure, but her stance bathed in the sun's unhealthy rays – unhealthy depending on undead status – seemed somewhat intentional, as if she sought protection from him.  
  
"I thought we'd matured past the whole stalking issue", she said charily.  
  
He stepped closer to her, circling in a way that made her feel like the prey under a predator's watchful gaze, and only reinforcing her stalker point.  
  
"You think you can really take on those demons yourself?" he said brusquely, instead of replying. They weren't here to discuss his vampiric habits. He smiled, but there was no humour in it. "I'd almost say being out of commission the past few months has made you sloppy."  
  
Her mouth fell open. Where the hell did *that* come from? She knew he was only insulting her to distract her from her mission, but still. It took more than that to dissuade her these days, and where did he get off calling *her* sloppy?  
  
"You've been studying these demons, haven't you?" she asked snappishly.  
  
He frowned. "Yes".  
  
"Then I might not know anything about fighting them, but you certainly do. And I don't see you running out, in full US Cavalry, save the day mode. I thought that was your gig here in L.A.? Help the hopeless. Don't see much of it going around. I see clean-up crews and big interpersonal political chumming around. Don't call me the sloppy one when you can't even keep your priorities in check, Angel".  
  
He gave her an angry, cold glare, stepping as close to her as the sunlight would allow. His expression instantly shifted from one of careful indifference to fury, and he jabbed a finger in her face.  
  
"Don't you dare ever come into *my* city, asking for my help, and tell me how to do my job. I don't need any favours, and I don't need *you* to mouth off about things that don't concern you".  
  
Buffy narrowed her eyes, unflinching from his invasion of her personal space. She had never been afraid of him, and she wasn't about to start. She had been waiting for this confrontation. After their last meeting, it seemed inevitable. They had been so nice, so polite, both fully aware that it could have been the last time they would see each other before the First obliterated their world, and being careful to resolve things. But when were things ever resolved between them?  
  
He knew about her feelings for Spike, and he had told her he would wait for her when they both knew things could turn out otherwise. Not exactly the building grounds for a committed friendship.  
  
"Now we're past pleasantries, why don't you just get it out?" Buffy snapped. "Tell me what you really think? I'm the slayer", she said flatly. "May not be the only one anymore, but its still in the job description. It's what I do. And it doesn't exactly mark out preferred territory, so I'm sorry if I've invaded *your* city." She waved her hands. "What the hell are you doing here, Angel? Signing up on Evil Team Number One, moving up in a big swanky, upmarket office so the only satisfaction you get out of helping people is a big fat pay check from on high, or whoever the hell is in charge over there? This isn't like you".  
  
He glared down at her. "Well, maybe you don't know what is like me anymore", he growled.  
  
Oh, *that* was harsh. Buffy flinched, taking a step backward, until she was completely swathed in light.  
  
"Innocent people are dying out there", she said unequivocally. "I'm going out there to do something about it. Maybe you don't care anymore, I don't know, and to be honest I don't give a shit. Don't worry, because as soon as I take care of this, I'll be out of L.A. And *don't* follow me. Considering it's three in the afternoon and the smog is shifting, I don't think that'll be much of a problem."  
  
She whirled to turn away, and his hand shot out, closing around her wrist and pulling her back. The smell of burning flesh stung her nostrils, and he swore, jerking his palm back against his silk shirt. He narrowed his eyes down at her, anger heartened by the pain in his hand.  
  
"You think I don't care?" he said coldly, teeth clenched. "Let's get something straight. My reasons for joining Wolfram and Hart are private, and have nothing to do with you. But they weren't out of convenience. I did what I had to for people I care about. I care. It just isn't enough anymore."  
  
He stepped back from her, eyes burning uncomfortably into her face, and then he melded back inside the shadows and disappeared from her sight, leaving his words to echo in her mind.  
  
****  
  
Faith pounced on her as soon as she walked into their suite.  
  
"Where the hell you bin, B?" the brunette demanded, pausing completely in her karate exercises to approach the older slayer. She grasped a water bottle from the dresser table near the door, and took a giant swig, swiping the perspiration from her face. "I was edging on worried there, you know", she said pointedly. "Next time you wanna go buddyin' around with Angel or whatever you two do, you could at least leave a note."  
  
"I was not—"  
  
Buffy cut herself off as Faith waved a copy of the council restraining order Angel had left behind in her face.  
  
"Angel stopped by to put the final scrunch on our council problem", Buffy informed her tiredly, flopping on the hard motel bed mattress. "That's all".  
  
"'That's all'? The crater across the street fit into that explanation at all, B?"  
  
"We had a... little demon problem", Buffy said evenly, closing her eyes. "It's taken care of. For now, at least."  
  
"And you're going to explain when? I mean, I figured there was something funky going on when I saw all the damage on the news, but I didn't know what."  
  
Buffy lifted her head slightly, looking at Faith suspiciously. "We didn't pay for cable, Faith."  
  
Faith rolled her eyes, brushing her brown hair behind her neck and pulling it up into a loose ponytail. "Okay, so I took a little detour on my run. That a crime?"  
  
"And this detour wouldn't happen to be Robin's comfy little downtown condo, would it?" Buffy said knowingly.  
  
Faith turned her back, crouching to clean up her gym equipment, which Buffy took as a yes. Faith doing anything remotely like tidying had to be a sign of guilt.  
  
"How was he?"  
  
Faith slumped her shoulders, rocking back so she was on her heels, and turning to look up at Buffy on the bed. "Fine", she said tightly. Her relationship with Robin was new to her, and nothing short of rocky, and she didn't feel like discussing it. He was the first decent guy she had met who had an interest in her – barring Xander maybe – and she had never exactly been Explore Things From Every Angle chick. Well, least not the psychological sense. Point was, she was happy to just let things lie proper.  
  
"Quit messing with the convo", she said irritably; seeing Buffy was fully intent on steering clear of her own topic. They were on her issues here, not Faith's. "What's going on? It's not everyday L.A. gets run-over by invisible chaos. And if it is, I gotta start watching the news more often".  
  
Buffy wondered at the context of Faith watching the news at Robin's anyway, but decided pursuing the topic was pointless and definitely a way to pick up information she'd prefer not to know.  
  
"They were... Gashindo demons or something. Wesley thinks they mean the end of the world is coming. As in pretty seriously nigh".  
  
Faith cocked her eyebrows, swiping a stray tendril of hair out of her face. "Bummer".  
  
"Yeah. About sums it up."  
  
Faith stretched, yawning wearily. "So. What we gonna do about that?"  
  
"*We* aren't doing anything. Angel was pretty vocal in his opinion we aren't needed here. Wolfram and Hart are going to handle it. And I say good luck to them. I've filled my apocalypse quota for the decade. Let someone else deal with it for a change."  
  
Faith looked at her disbelievingly. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"  
  
"It's none of our business, Faith. And that's fine with me. Angel handled our problem, and he can manage his own. He doesn't need us."  
  
"He doesn't need you, you mean?" Faith surmised perceptively.  
  
Buffy ignored her, laying back against the pillows, and grabbing the phone from the nightstand. "I'm going to call and check up on Dawn. I'll tell her we're coming home tonight. If you want to stay a couple more days that's fine. But I'm leaving".  
  
Faith watched her, deep frown marring her face as Buffy made the call. If Buffy wasn't telling her everything that didn't come as much of a shocker, considering they weren't the tightest of share-all buds. But she felt they sort of had common ground where Angel was concerned, and Buffy could at least confide some thoughts on that scale.  
  
She was leaving out something big, and it was gonna eat her up if she didn't spill it soon. Faith sighed. And she'd thought *her* maturing was overdue.  
  
****  
  
"You kicked her out?"  
  
Angel refused to feel any guilt under Fred and Wesley collective stare as he leaned back in his leather armchair. "Technically she kicked herself out", he said flatly. "I just didn't argue the point".  
  
Wesley scowled, throwing his up arms in incredulity. "I don't believe this", he fumed. "After Lorne's vision, and everything we've discovered, you're sending Buffy home when she could very well be in danger?"  
  
"She'd probably be safer there, anyway", Angel said stubbornly.  
  
Wesley whirled at him face-on. "That's bloody rot, and you know it", he snapped. "This isn't a game, this is serious, and for once could you just put aside your bloody issues and see that. You let your emotional prejudice get in the way of the job, and its one time too many in my opinion. Petty squabbling won't amount to anything when Buffy ends up dead."  
  
Angel straightened, feeling an irrational urge to strike out in his anger. "Oh, and you haven't let your emotional prejudice win out before, have you Wes?" he said in a patronising tone. "There's no guarantee what we're dealing with is as dire as the apocalypse, and we don't know if Lorne's rendition of his vision is even the right one. We're in charge of a multi- million dollar law office now, and a hell of a lot more people to be responsible for along with it. We can't afford to make second-guesses, definitely not where the End of Days is concerned."  
  
He rose to his feet, stalking across the Persian rug his secretary had ordered in to decorate his absurdly gloomy office, and turned to face the necro-plated windows staring out over the darkening city.  
  
"You know this isn't nothing, Angel", Wesley said seriously, approaching him from behind. Angel could see the ex-watcher's reflection in the glass, and the strain thinning his features. Over the summer he had at least partially shaved the thin stubble that seemed as constant in him as his rumpled suits, but he still held that roguish sort of air about him, even if he had no memory of what had been its cause.  
  
Angel again reflected what a good thing that probably was.  
  
His friend's gaze probed into the back of his head as he spoke, and even if Angel hadn't seen it in his reflection he would have felt the urgent gesture. "I've sent a message to the senior partners. Lilah should be here tomorrow to shed more light on the situation. Of course I would never tell her of our suspicions, or Buffy's involvement, but we can't simply ignore these resources."  
  
Angel sneered distastefully, keeping his back turned. He knew all too well how valuable the resources here were, and Lilah never ceased to grow tired of waving it in his face. He definitely wasn't in the mood to deal with the savvy, sarcastic lawyer.  
  
"I don't want the partners involved in this", Angel grunted in a low voice.  
  
Wesley sighed irritably. "Nor do I, but you're leaving us with few alternatives, Angel".  
  
Angel turned his head, eyeing the man side-on expectantly. "So what do you want me to do?"  
  
He was C.E.O and President of Wolfram and Hart's Los Angeles branch, but damned if he didn't always feel like it.  
  
Wesley glanced back at Fred, taking comfort in her calming presence, and turned resolutely back to face his best friend.  
  
"Get Buffy", he said stoically. "I don't care what you have to do. Apologise. Beg. But get her here. If she is in danger, it won't be long before she's targeted".  
  
****  
  
Booking tickets out of L.A. on a Friday night wasn't exactly roses, but Buffy was fixated on leaving the city as soon as possible, and she was too impatient to wait until morning.  
  
Faith felt too guilty to let Buffy make her Independent Woman Movement alone, and reluctantly loaded her bag onto the bus behind her, inwardly wondering when public transportation became flavour of the month. But she knew they couldn't risk her driving into Los Angeles with her outstanding arrest still so recent, and she was a shit driver anyway. Though she was Grand Prix pro in comparison to Summers, queen of all fender benders. So hence the bus that smelt like a mixture of urine, sweat, and smoke.  
  
Buffy refused to engage in any kind of conversation, and turned on her Discman as soon as they got on the bus, leaning her head pointedly back against the headrest and twisting so her gaze was fixed out the window.  
  
Faith sighed, riffling in her backpack for the snickers bar she bought from the vending machine on the way in, resigning herself to the silent treatment and disappointment to be leaving Robin so soon.  
  
"Amen, sister", she muttered.  
  
Maybe she should just move down more permanently, she mused to herself as she chewed. It wasn't like she was doing anything incredibly gratifying in Rio Dell. Buffy and her friends had the whole slayer gig under control, and Robin had a sweet set-up going for him in L.A. She was sure he wouldn't mind them shacking up together... at least until she could find an apartment. Of course then she'd have to find a job, and then she'd have to avoid the cops... Maybe she'd just shack up indefinitely. Wood wouldn't mind a freeloader too much... not one with her skills...  
  
She barely noticed a shudder in the bus when they began to cruise through the depot gates; she was so immersed in her thoughts. They had been lucky, they both agreed to take a late bus, and it wasn't overly crowded. There were only a few other passengers apart from themselves, including a young Hispanic couple, a few men dressed in flashy business suits probably too cheep to commute by subway, and a sleazy, tattoo-sheathed guy who gave her a suggesting leer down the aisle.  
  
Faith gave him a crude gesture with her middle finger, and the bus jerked again, this time more violently. The Hispanic woman gave a startled yelp, and a few passengers straightened in vague concern, looking up to the driver in annoyance.  
  
Faith nudged Buffy, forcing her to remove her earphones.  
  
"Hey", she said quietly. "Do you hear—?"  
  
A loud ripping sound cut off her sentence, like the sound of fingernails over a blackboard magnified a few thousand decibels. The driver gave a loud shout, and his grip twisted fiercely around the steering wheel as the bus veered violently into the next lane.  
  
Car horns blared as they swerved from the road, and passengers swore loudly, clutching onto the seats in front of them white-knuckled as the bus began to wrench from side-to-side, as if the driver was in the middle of a tug-of-war with an invisible opponent.  
  
Even from her seat Faith could see the tree, but she had no time to shout out words of warning.  
  
They slammed headlong into it, rocking everyone forward in their seats. The bus driver's front window shattered, and a large branch snagged the air inches above his head. Silence crowded the vehicle, except for combined heavy breathing, and he slowly removed his hands from the steering wheel, turning to glance anxiously over his shoulder.  
  
"Is everyone—?"  
  
The ripping sound invaded the silence, and cold night air rushed into the interior as the metal on the roof curled effortlessly upward. A contorted, blackened hand appeared from the sudden void, and closed around the head of the closest passenger, a young businessman who opened his mouth in a silent scream. The sound never left his windpipe.  
  
His body slumped forward in the aisle, glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling from a head no longer connected to a body.  
  
The screams started before Buffy and Faith had even made an attempt to move into action, and the young Hispanic couple were being wrenched from their seats and disappearing over the side of the bus. Blood splattered back over where they had been seated, like an image from a twisted slasher movie come alive.  
  
And kicking bad.  
  
Other passengers shot from their seats, vainly elbowing and shoving their way past each other to make for the exit.  
  
Faith and Buffy moved in silent accord. They scaled the side of the bus in a few swift, easy jumps, launching through the hole in the ceiling and landing solidly on the roof above.  
  
The remains of the young couple littered the road beside the bus, and the enduring windows of the bus also shattered, raining shards of deadly glass in on the other passengers. The slayers raised their fists, tensing into positions for combat.  
  
Already they could see the damage the demon had caused to the outside of the bus, and the sheer claw marks that marred the tough, grey metal left a deep dread in Faith's gut. She spun so she was back-to-back with Buffy, desperately scanning the outer perimeter for their hidden attacker.  
  
It stood below them with the limp body of the bus driver cradled in its arms. It was colossal, head almost reaching the top of the Greyhound, its skin an inky blackness that unnaturally blended with the shadows around it. Almost as if it were one with them. The only thing about it remotely colourful were its eyes, and they were a deep, blood red, glowing amber in the overhead moonlight, and filled with a coldness Faith had never quite seen.  
  
It tossed aside the man as if he was a rag doll, and then it fixed its gaze on them.  
  
It looked kind of hungry.  
  
"Oh fuck".  
  
Faith realised her hands were shaking, and that she and Buffy were both weaponless, and open targets.  
  
Buffy seemed paralysed to move, and Faith sprung into movement, giving her a hard shove in the side. "Buffy!"  
  
Buffy shook her head, eyes reflecting their fear as they focused on something else behind her. Faith glanced around, and swallowed. In the intervening time they had been trapped inside the bus, the demon had used its victim's blood, and carved a crude, inhuman symbol on the barren earth.  
  
That symbol was what filled Faith with an unexplainable, intrinsic dread that seeped down into soul, as if calling to the very slayer within.  
  
The demon came at them.  
  
It slammed its hulk into the side of the bus, catching them both off-guard, and sending them toppling over the side in opposite directions.  
  
Faith smashed face-first into the dirt, and the taste of her own blood invaded her senses. She tried to roll onto her back, but something hard, sharp and cold connected with her skull.  
  
She heard Buffy's scream moments before she slipped into the darkness.  
  
****  
  
TBC 


	5. Design: Gas and Flames

****  
  
Chapter Five: "Gas and Flames"  
  
****  
  
The blood rushed to her head as Buffy thudded violently into the earth, and the momentum made her roll, briefly knocking the wind out of her.  
  
Buffy forced herself to lift her head, and the demon's twisted, hulking face entered her line of sight. Before Buffy had the chance to come up with anything remotely witty, the demon backhanded her again, and she went skidding along the ground, sending waves of pain shooting up and down her spine. She cried out, face impacting with the putrid earth.  
  
Talons ripped into her flesh, slicing into her like a dozen burning hot knives and wrenching her arm back behind her body, and she was launched headlong into the air. She landed on her stomach again, feeling something that felt suspiciously like one of her ribs snap.  
  
*Great. And ow.*  
  
She had no idea what this demon was, or what it wanted, but its assault on her went far beyond simple malice and she could feel the slick, hot blood sliding down her face already. She rolled on her back, cool night air fanning against her face, and the demon stared down at her. It grinned.  
  
"Warrior".  
  
Buffy scrambled backwards, staggering to her feet. "Uh, huh now?"  
  
She drew up to her height, swinging her fist in what should have been an effective cross-punch. It met with solid flesh, tearing away the skin at her knuckles and crushing something inside her wrist.  
  
Buffy opened her mouth, breathing fast, green eyes slowly travelling up the length of the towering demon. "Shit".  
  
She launched a high roundhouse kick, expecting to at least catch it off balance. The demon barely batted an eyelid. It lifted a cloven fist, blocking the kick like you would a punch, and she staggered backward.  
  
The demon's cold, amber eyes connected with hers, but it made no further move to attack. A kind of recognition filtered it its deadened gaze, and it leered, showing razors of sharp, glinting teeth. Buffy squirmed, overactive imagination imagining those teeth ripping into her flesh, and harsh shakes rattled through her breaths.  
  
"L'deau an deur", the demon droned. She stared at it, again overcome with a consuming feel of paralysis, as it continued to speak in a language she had never heard. Considering her downtime spent with Willow and Giles – who had like a photographic memory of demonic languages – that was saying something.  
  
"It is not yet flesh", he murmured in a low droll only she could hear. "It cannot save you. The Saviour will be light in this dimension and my swift hand shall snuff its flame."  
  
It reared a solid, rock hard fist, and hit her. Buffy went flying again, knowing her body couldn't deal with this kind of damage even with her slayer capabilities, and the demon's menacing message echoed after her.  
  
"The Death shall be our beginning. And it will be your ending, slayer."  
  
Her shoulder cracked as it connected firmly with the solid roadway, and she collapsed, knowing when the final blow came, she would be defenceless to stop it.  
  
It never did.  
  
Her head was throbbing with agony she could barely imagine, and her gaze went bleary as she struggled to lift her head. Bright, uneven lights rushed past in front of her, accompanied by the loud shrieking of what she registered as brakes.  
  
"*Buffy!*"  
  
Buffy stared up at the starless, vast nothingness of the night sky, flat on her back. Her own shallow breaths echoed in her ears, as Angel's face appeared in her vision.  
  
"Buffy!" he repeated forcibly. His gaze ticked over her, assessing her wellbeing, and his hands clasped her shoulders bitingly. "Are you okay?! Are you hurt?"  
  
Buffy lifted a hand to her forehead, and her fingers came back sticky and wet. Then she remembered the all too constant danger, and scrambled to a sitting position, dizziness making her movements sluggish and sloppy. She had been lucky to get along this far alive. She could only imagine why the demon had spared her for now. "Angel, we have to go. The demon –"  
  
"There's nothing here."  
  
She glanced around, rocketing to her feet, and she swayed under the sharp movement to her head. Angel quickly steadied her. Buffy, remembering his earlier stinging words, shook his grip off, gaze furiously scanning around. She didn't have time to question what he was even doing there in the first place.  
  
"Is Faith—?"  
  
"Save the distress call, Summers".  
  
Faith appeared, nursing her side with a look of pain. She glanced between them, then her eyes fixed on Buffy's and they were wary and narrowed.  
  
"What the *hell* were you doing?" she demanded.  
  
Buffy looked at her blankly, heart thundering from her close encounter. She knew Angel could hear it, but he said nothing.  
  
"*What*?"  
  
Faith waved a hand vaguely around them. "The demon, yo. What, were you mind melding or something?"  
  
Buffy felt like choking her to talk some sense. "What are *talking* about?"  
  
Faith wrenched her roughly by the hand, twisting her wrist so the back of her palm was visible to her face. "I'm talking about *this*".  
  
Buffy stared blindly down at the blackened symbol etched onto her flesh, like some twisted tattoo inked in permanent marker. She pulled away from Faith, disbelieving to what she was seeing. "How... I don't remember how that got there."  
  
"Well, it got there somehow. I'm thinking in the two and a half-minutes you and Rocky boy were off in space".  
  
"It's the sign of the demon", Angel interrupted flatly.  
  
Buffy frowned, looking up at him in search of a further explanation. "How the hell do you figure that?"  
  
He pointed impatiently to the earth. "Because it's exactly the same as that one".  
  
****  
  
Angel seemed pretty fixated on a visit to the ER, but both slayers managed to persuade him against that movement. It would be kind of difficult to explain their presence at a major murder scene and the fact that they were the only survivors.  
  
The rode in silence as Angel drove them back into the city, fully aware whatever connection Buffy had with the demon was a tangible threat.  
  
Angel explained earlier that he had been by the hotel to seek them out, and discovered they had already checked out. He figured their next alternative had been the bus station, and made his own conclusions after he got there and realised their bus had already departed.  
  
When they entered a classy, upscale Pasadena neighbourhood, Buffy and Faith's concerns and already healing injuries were temporarily forgotten, as their gazes were transfixed to the building Angel pulled the belvedere convertible smoothly in front of.  
  
Faith whistled under her breath, admiring the building as Angel led them inside, and straight towards the elevator. He pulled out his cell phone on the way, and left Wesley a message to meet them there as soon as possible.  
  
When the elevator doors opened, Buffy was momentarily struck dumb by the opulent, sprawling penthouse they entered, a far cry from Angel's last establishment – at least by what she had gathered from Willow's basic descriptions. The living room was open and classically decorated, reminding her more of the Angel she knew, than this frosty, impersonal one he seemed to have become.  
  
Oriental Persian rugs decorated the hardwood floors, and paintings she knew to be by famous artists if she knew anything about Angel hung on the lightly toned, creamy coloured walls. A staircase curved from the living room, concealing behind it a kitchen niche, and leading to what she assumed to be a bedroom loft.  
  
The colours were all very warm, traditional and inviting, and spoke clearly of a particular taste. She was struck with a distinct sense of familiarity and comfort, though she knew how ridiculous that was, because she had never been there before.  
  
However, there was one thing out of place, and that was the rigidly poised, severe faced Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.  
  
Faith cocked an eyebrow, glancing vaguely into the elevator as it closed behind them. "That was fast".  
  
Buffy studied Wesley cautiously, unconsciously rubbing the grazes over her knuckles. She couldn't help thinking the man before them was a far cry from the pompous, full of himself watcher she remembered. He actually looked... good. Like, real good. The roguish, bad boy, Lex-Luther-helps-old-ladies- across-the-street-in -comparison description of good.  
  
Wesley didn't look particularly amused, though he spared a brief expression of relief to see the slayers returned safely. "I'm glad Angel managed to find you in time".  
  
"Just barely", Faith said flippantly, slumping onto the leather sofa and propping her feet up on the coffee table. Buffy didn't like to imagine what Faith's twenty-dollar Docs would do to the mahogany. "I think I popped a rib back there".  
  
Wesley's pursed his lips. "I'm assuming there was an attack?"  
  
Angel sighed, moving around the sofa to riffle in a drawer behind it. "I'd rather just not hear 'I told you so' right now if you could spare it, Wes."  
  
Wesley looked annoyed, and folded his arms sternly. "I think things have progressed far beyond that stage", he snapped. "Fred managed to pick up on strange demonic activity on Wolfram and Hart's sensors on the highway leading out of town. I'll presume that was the place of your assault. The demon you encountered is far from normal. The evil energy was almost entirely pure."  
  
Faith leant back. "That a bad thing?"  
  
Wesley spared her a glance. "I would think so", he said deprecatingly. "Considering the demons that exist on this earth are never entirely pure in nature. I seem to remember an old boss of yours intent on becoming so".  
  
Faith shifted uncomfortably, gaze shooting to the floor. "Yeah, well. Never really got the technicalities on that one. Busy bein' knocked off a roof an' all".  
  
Buffy frowned, shifting from foot to foot, finding Wesley's attitude less- than-seemly. "But the Mayor had to ascend to become a pure demon. And he was like twenty feet high".  
  
"That's what separates this demon from those who achieve ascension. For one, I don't think this one is of our world. Secondly... I don't think its creation was in the typical sense."  
  
Angel tossed Buffy the first aid kit, barely taking his eyes away from Wesley. She felt a rush of annoyance. "How do you mean?" he demanded impatiently.  
  
Wesley sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "We discovered something else. The demonic activity we screened... was the *only* demonic activity".  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Meaning that the vampires and demons of L.A. have skipped town", the watcher said flatly. "Permanently. Or at least aren't creating any kind of havoc that would track them on our radar."  
  
Faith blew out a breath. "Damn. I thought blotting out the sun was radical."  
  
"Well. Do you think you could give me a description of the demon? An account of what happened?"  
  
Faith shrugged, looking up at Buffy cagily. "I'd like to help you out, I really would, but I kind of had a serious case of blackout to unaccount for at least five or six minutes of my life. If Wolfram and Hart can find me a way to get those back, by the way, I'd be super grateful. If you want to talk to someone about it, I'd go with Buffy."  
  
Buffy chewed her lip, feeling awkward. *Thank you for making it sound so creepy, Faith*, she thought irritably.  
  
Wesley glanced at her, unable to hide his curiosity. "Is that so?"  
  
"It's not like Faith makes it sound", Buffy said uneasily, unravelling a bandage from the first aid kit if only to distract herself from their probing eyes.  
  
Angel titled his eyebrows. "Because a demon sucking portions of your memory isn't at all serious."  
  
Buffy shot him a dark look, unconsciously rubbing the black mark tattooed on the back of her hand.  
  
*Thanks for being on my side here*, she thought, feeling slightly betrayed.  
  
Wesley shifted his gaze to her palm, apparently noticing her sudden discomfort. "What is that?"  
  
Buffy's green eyes darted downward, and she curled her wrist to her chest, reluctant to attract the sudden attention to it. "I... don't know", she said glumly.  
  
"It's the same symbol the demon left marked on the wreckage", Angel said tersely. "I'm thinking it's a calling card of sorts."  
  
"So what, Buffy's branded or somethin'?" Faith piped in mild amusement. Her smile faded when Wesley shrugged.  
  
"I wouldn't mock. It's actually a feasible conclusion. Buffy, may I have a look?"  
  
Buffy reluctantly forfeited her hand, and Wesley peered over it curiosity. His face blanched when he was able to study it.  
  
"What?" Buffy said sharply.  
  
Wesley hesitated, glancing to Angel in consternation.  
  
Okay, Buffy thought carefully. Definite we-know-something-they-don't-know vibery.  
  
Her hands flew to her hips, turning to Angel. He was the boss here, and though she had no compunction to fall under his order, Wesley clearly felt it was his place to give details. "Angel, what's going on? Tell me, or do we have to throw down".  
  
A flicker in her eyes let her know he didn't doubt that threat.  
  
"First Wesley", he said firmly. "What does the symbol mean?"  
  
The watcher looked resentful to bare news that had the potential to throw a slayer off the handle, but spoke up slowly. "The symbol fits into to several prophecies Fred and I skimmed over in the Devandire codex. Ironically, I believe it may be the final piece in our mysterious jigsaw. The symbol is the calling card, as Angel so adequately put it, for a mystical figure called The Warrior. He is said to be summoned from the darkness and the very pits of the underworld, to bring forth the End of Days."  
  
"Well what *is* he?" Faith asked bluntly, in no mood for Wesley's prancing around the topic. He was so much like Giles it was annoying, and kind of spooky.  
  
"He is the underworld's appointed Warrior", Wesley explained impatiently. "Just as the Slayer – or slayers as it is now – are examples for the Powers of Good. The Warrior exists for only one primal purpose. He is an assassin for the powers of darkness. His bounty... is warriors for the Powers that Be."  
  
Buffy stared at him lengthily. "Meaning us?"  
  
Wesley sighed. "Meaning all you".  
  
A dark frown hooded Angel's face as a question nagged at him. "So... why didn't he kill her?"  
  
****  
  
Buffy sat on the floor, Indian-style over the beige carpet probably so expensive it could have paid off her sister's college tuition. She leant against the couch base, studying her broken knuckles with intensity.  
  
*Why didn't he kill her?*  
  
Angel's nonplussed, chary words echoed in her ears. Why had she been spared? Wesley, for all his good with prophecies and gloom, could offer no logical explanation, and the endless sprawl of theories clouded in her brain and threatened to spill over. She was a warrior. Right? Or had her freedom from her duty isolated her in a completely other, unique category from her sister slayers? She was their first, and last.  
  
*Does that make me different?*  
  
Her preoccupation didn't allow her to hear the approach until Angel's voice broke the silence. "Buffy, what are you doing?"  
  
She glanced up, seeing him standing in the open doorway. He was clad simply in low slung black pyjama pants and an unbuttoned, black shirt, and she unconsciously drew in her breath at the sight of his pale naked chest, alight in the outside lamplight shining through the window. The tips of her fingers fairly tingled, and she avoided her eyes, gaze drawn back to her raw red knuckles and the symbol etched permanently on the back of her right palm. No amount of scrubbing could remove it, even after Wesley deemed it safe once he had copied it into his notebook.  
  
It was an ugly, stark reminder of her encounter, and the invasion of her memory and mind.  
  
She ran her tongue lightly over her parched lips; blonde locks falling over her features. "Faith's a kicker. I couldn't sleep".  
  
They had already checked out of the Sun Inn that afternoon, and Buffy's credit card was maxed out. Angel's place was the viable alternative, though now as she considered it, she wondered if that was really such a great solution. Angel had forfeited his room and his bed to the slayers, and retreated to the spare bedroom downstairs he kept whenever an AI member had to pull an all-nighter on the research. Wesley had left a few hours ago, and she doubted the watcher had slept even then. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the End of Days prophecy, and claimed an urgent need for W&H's resources before fleeing the penthouse.  
  
Buffy wasn't the only one to be unnerved by the Warrior's arrival, nor would she be the last.  
  
Angel's eyes unconsciously followed the direction of her gaze, and he noticed the state of her knuckles with a sharp intake of breath. "Jesus, Buffy, what have you done?"  
  
He moved closer, and she flinched, straightening so she was on her feet. "I'm fine", she said unconvincingly. "I don't need you to worry about me".  
  
Angel couldn't miss the double entente, and ran a hand through his already sleep-rumpled hair, stepping away tiredly. "I'm sorry", he said wearily. "I was out of line earlier."  
  
"No, you weren't".  
  
She increased the distance between them, moving around the coffee table and slumping into a plump, old-fashioned armchair that somehow looked out of place with its otherwise expensive benefactors. "I should apologise for what I said because you were right. I don't know you, or why you chose to get involved with Wolfram and Hart. But I'm not going to pretend to understand it. I don't see anything being worth that kind of sacrifice."  
  
Angel pursed his lips stoically. "Then you've obviously never encountered the problem".  
  
Buffy narrowed her eyes, but let it go. She was too exhausted to argue, and she knew he was just as unlikely to back down. She reached for the first aid kit she had abandoned earlier on the table, and removed a tube of antiseptic cream.  
  
She fumbled with the opening; unable to admit to herself how severe the pain in her hands really was. After a while she heard Angel heave an impatient sigh, and sit down on the coffee table in front of her, grabbing the cream from her grasp.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, as Angel opened the tiny tubing and waited patiently for her to hold out her hands. Buffy did so reluctantly, allowing him to rub the cool, soothing ointment into her skin. His fingers travelled in slow, lazy circles, tingling over her skin in a way that had nothing to do with the pain.  
  
Buffy felt his warm, darkened gaze probing into her before she looked up, able to read through him easily, despite his so-called nondescript mask. "You think this means something bad, don't you?" she said sharply.  
  
He didn't flinch away from her scrutiny, furrowing his brow stubbornly. "I never said—"  
  
She snatched away her hands, curling into the seat protectively. "You were thinking it. And why wouldn't you? What other reason did he have to spare me? Warriors for the Powers that Be. That's what I am, isn't it? I'm still a slayer. I'm supposed to be a target. Why didn't he kill me?"  
  
"He didn't kill Faith", Angel pointed out gently.  
  
Buffy was blindsighted to anything but her fears. "He could have thought she was dead. And it doesn't change the fact that I'm the bearer of a nifty new tattoo that somehow says to everyone 'watch out, she's branded by that psycho'. I want to know what it means, Angel. If something's about to happen to me, I want to know what it is".  
  
Angel met her gaze, nodding slightly. "I'll put everyone on it tomorrow. Wesley's already looking into it. It won't be long before we know." He hesitated, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Buffy... Faith said the demon spoke to you. Do you remember anything it said? Anything that might give us a clue."  
  
Buffy's gaze darted up. "I do... remember something", she said haltingly. "The demon... he said something about a Saviour. The Saviour. I'm not sure, exactly." She met his gaze. "He said that we can't be saved, and it won't save us. That it wasn't... flesh yet. Or something."  
  
She rocked back in the chair, excitement already waning. "I don't know, Angel. I can't remember."  
  
"It's okay", he assured her, reaching out to brush lightly against her cheek. "We'll figure it out."  
  
His resolve to push her away was becoming more difficult, and he could see that she, as unintentionally as she could, was already breaking away his barriers. He quickly raised to his feet, returning his hand to his side, tone instantly adopting a more clipped, businesslike edge.  
  
"You should get some sleep", he said abruptly. "We'll go to the office tomorrow. Hopefully Wesley will have some news by then".  
  
*Oh-kay.* He started back out of the room, leaving Buffy feeling very dumb and confused, and staring after his heady departure. He was almost... afraid of something.  
  
She muttered unintelligibly under her breath, stinging from this apparent rejection. "Well goodnight to you too".  
  
****  
  
TBC 


End file.
